notified the police so he could collect
insurance--not from Big Jake.

With a sort of morbid, frustrated gloom, Detective Sergeant Fitzgerald
made the necessary notes. He put his notebook in his pocket and backed
his car out of the alley. Oddly enough, he thought of a beautifully
carved meerschaum pipe he'd found with the milk that morning. He'd
presented it to an orphanage mainly because, irrationally, he'd have
liked to keep it. There had been other expensive gifts he'd have liked
to keep. Bourbon. A set of expensive dry-flies. An eight-millimeter
movie camera. Scotch. Shiny, smooth silk socks that would have soothed
his weary feet. He'd denied himself these gifts because he believed--he
knew--that they came from Big Jake, who tactfully won friends and
influenced people by making presents and denying it. In business matters
he was stern, because that was the way to collect protection-money. But
he was subtle with cops. He had their wives on his side.

Sergeant Fitzgerald growled in his throat. He'd always wanted a really
fine meerschaum pipe. He'd had one this morning, and he'd had to get rid
of it because it came from Big Jake. He felt that Big Jake had robbed
him of it.

He turned the police car and drove back toward the Elite Cleaners and
Dyers establishment. As he drove, he growled. His eyelid had twitched
twice, and each time he'd been heading into danger or trouble. The fact
was dauntingly coincidental with Brink's comment after giving him a
scrap of plastic from the bottom of that crazy machine. These things
were on his mind. He couldn't bring himself to plan to mention them, but
he needed to talk to Brink again. Brink could testify to threats. He
could justify arrests. Sergeant Fitzgerald had a fine conviction that
with a chance to apply pressure, he could make some of Big Jake's hoods
and collectors talk, and so bust things wide open. He only needed
Brink's co-operation. He drove toward the Elite Cleaners and Dyers to
put pressure on Brink toward that happy end. But he brooded over his own
eyebrow-twitchings.

When the cleaning establishment came into view, there was a car parked
before it. Two men from that car were in the act of entering the Elite
plant through the same door the detective had used earlier. He parked
his car behind the other. Fuming, he crossed the sidewalk and entered
the building. As he entered, he heard a scream from the back. He heard a
crashing sound and more screams.

He bolted a